The All-Star Game
by do i need a pen name
Summary: Once upon a time, Katie Bell kept a secret from the whole world. Alright, only Britain. OK, only magical Britain. Fine, just British Quidditch fans. But the point is there was a secret, she kept it, and she never thought the truth would come out 20 years later. Long story short: this is all Oliver's fault. COMPLETE
1. The Lead-Up

**a/n—This story is a short sequel/companion to my earlier Katie/Oliver story ****The Answer to Our Lives****. It's an idea that I've had in the back of my mind ever since that story ended, especially after dislike was expressed over Katie's ultimate career choices. I'm just glad I finally took the time to actually write it down after nearly two years. It is going to be posted in two parts, and I'm almost certain the second half will be ready within the week. For now, enjoy!**

* * *

**The All-Star Game**

_Mid-Winter, 2019_

When Oliver Wood began playing Quidditch as a small child, it was because he thought it was fun; there was _nothing_ more exciting than flying around on a broom.

When Oliver began attending Hogwarts, he was overjoyed to finally get the chance to be on an actual team playing the game he long ago fell in love with; no one was ever more disappointed to learn First Years were not allowed on the House team.

When Oliver was named captain of the Gryffindor team in his Fifth Year, he became determined to end the winning streak Slytherin had for the Quidditch cup or die trying; it took a few years and more than a few dawn practices, but that Spring day in 1994 was one of the happiest of his life.

When Oliver was signed as a reserve to Puddlemere United, he was ecstatic to be getting the chance to make a career out of playing the game he loved; becoming a starter two years later only fueled his desire to improve his abilities.

When Oliver was getting ready to begin his twenty-fifth season playing with Puddlemere United, he realized he was getting too old to be a professional Quidditch player for much longer; he was still good...but maybe his reflexes weren't quite as spectacular as they used to be and besides, no one else had an adult daughter playing in the League.

When did he get so old?

Well, in between dawn practices and injuries and endless days on the road and getting married and raising two children and winning games and losing games and every other little thing that had happened over the past twenty-four seasons, time was bound to have passed in some fashion. But that was okay, because he was pretty positive that he'd made the most of all those years. In fact, looking back on his extensive Quidditch career, Oliver could honestly say that he had accomplished every single goal he set for himself.

As a reserve, he wanted to be named to the starting team when the current Keeper retired. Done.

He then wanted to be a serious contender for Rookie of Year, and maybe even win. Done and done.

He wanted to win at least three League Championships over the course of his career. Done. Done. Done. Plus five more times.

He wanted to eventually be named Captain. Done, for over ten years now.

He wanted the choice of when he'd had enough, rather than being forced out by something like a career-ending injury. Well, now was his chance. Because no one anywhere was suggesting that he wasn't still on top of his game (though maybe no longer _at_ the top).

But, before he called it quits on a long career of playing the game he loved, he wanted one season to play against his daughter; one season to play the game he loved with one of the people he loved the most.

* * *

_Late Winter, 2019_

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the press," Philbert Deverill, long-time manager of Puddlemere United began the preseason press conference just as he always did. "As you can see from our press release earlier today, we at Puddlemere have opted to retain our core line-up for the coming year after a very successful season last year. Changes to the reserve team were minor, and can be found in the roster contained within that press release."

He paused to inhale deeply. He could _feel_ the anticipation in the room and he loved it.

"As you all know," He continued, "Our press release also stated that we would be making several major announcements today. And so I believe I will simply cut to the chase now."

Oh yes, the anticipation was thick and their quills were quivering with excitement. Perfect.

"Our highly decorated Keeper, Oliver Wood, has made the personal decision that this year, his twenty-fifth season with the Puddlemere Organization, will be his last. He will be retiring from professional Quidditch at the conclusion of the upcoming season."

Questions erupted at this pronouncement. Philbert silently took in the barrage for a brief moment before raising a hand for quiet, which fell almost instantly.

"Oliver has stated that he has enjoyed his time with Puddlemere and the British League immensely, and that he hopes his final season will be a great reflection of all of the time he has dedicated to the world's greatest game over the years."

Philbert watched with glee as all of the journalists scribbled away while he spoke. They had no idea what else was to come…

"He also said that he looks forward to the chance to continue his involvement with the League in the years to come, but now as a spectator as his daughter begins what he believes will be a promising Quidditch career of her own."

At this, pandemonium erupted, just as Philbert had known it would. Excellent. At this rate, Puddlemere was going to make the front page of every single major publication in Britain, and not just the Sports section of the _Prophet_. Philbert was clearly not the only person who didn't know that Oliver Wood had a daughter.

He again had to hold up a hand for quiet, but this time had to resort to actually asking for it when the excitement grew to be too much to contain.

"If I could have silence, ladies and gentlemen," Philbert stated loudly. "I _will_ be taking questions at the end of my statement, but I'm not quite there yet."

Almost immediately, the room was silent again. Good, because he had one last announcement to make.

"Naturally, we at Puddlemere are very saddened to be losing such a talented player. And so we have decided to use this entire season as an ongoing celebration of Oliver and the time he has spent with us. It will culminate this October in a singularly unique event sponsored in conjunction with the British Quidditch League: A special All-Star game featuring the top players in the League from the past twenty-plus years Oliver has been with Puddlemere. We will be contacting prospective players in the coming weeks to seek their involvement, and the final roster will be announced by the end of July. Now...does anyone have any questions for me?"

* * *

_Late Winter, 2019_

"Oh look, Oliver," Katie Wood née Bell said in an offhand manner the next morning over breakfast, "You've made the front page of the paper."

Oliver looked up from his porridge with a confused expression on his face. "Because of the roster announcement yesterday?"

"You're adorably clueless," Katie informed her husband. "You always have been," She smiled sweetly at him. "Deverill also announced your retirement yesterday; I'd imagine the intention was to drum up more press than any of the other teams."

"I suppose that would be big news," Oliver commented thoughtfully.

"You 'suppose'?" Katie questioned, her eyes now scanning the article. "We're talking about you ending your 'highly decorated' participation in the 'world's greatest game' and you only _suppose_ that's big news?"

"Well I hardly expect the _Prophet_ to agree with me," Oliver stated with a shrug. "They've never been known to recognize something good even if it's right in front of their faces, let alone something that has to do with something as amazing as Quidditch."

"The _Daily Prophet_ has gotten better since the war ended, you know. It _has_ been more than twenty years now, Oliver, dear."

Oliver chose to ignore his wife's not-so-subtle jibe and continued thoughtfully, "I'm actually really surprised my retirement made the front page."

"Oh, well that's because it didn't," Katie commented lightly, her gaze still on the newspaper. "Not exactly, anyway."

"What?" Oliver was officially confused now.

"Beverill also let slip that your _daughter_ will be playing in the League this year. Speculation is running rampant now, because no one knew you had a daughter."

"And _that _is exactly why I still don't trust the _Prophet_ to pay Quidditch the respect it's due."

Katie grinned. "You'll like this article, though. This reporter seems to think you've done nothing but keep secrets from your adoring fans for more than twenty years. Or, as she says: 'Upon learning about Wood's alleged secret daughter, this reporter cannot help but question what else Wood is hiding from us. For example, who is the mother of Wood's child? Is he married? Why has he refused to publicly acknowledge any sort of family until now?'"

"Refused to—" Oliver spluttered. "Who wrote that?"

Katie grinned again. "One Ginny Potter. Yes, I dare say she is very outraged to be 'kept in the dark' about something so 'humanizing for an international celebrity' for so long."

Oliver grinned now, too. "And _I_ daresay she's probably just still bitter about her team getting Ron as a Keeper instead of me at Roxie's last birthday party. My team crushed hers because he's so out of practice."

"This bit about the All-Star Game is interesting, though," Katie commented thoughtfully as she continued to peruse the morning paper. "It will be fascinating to see the Dream Teams that Puddlemere and the League put together for it…"

* * *

_Early Spring, 2019_

"How was your last first day of training, dear?" Katie asked, looking up from all of the papers she had spread out across the table when Oliver exited the nearby fireplace.

"All of this rain and snow melting isn't good for kick-off—the ground's too soft," Oliver grumbled, walking over to Katie and kissing her cheek in greeting.

Katie laughed. "You say that every spring."

"Every spring it's true," Oliver insisted, making a beeline for the couch that was set against the wall opposite of the study's fireplace. He collapsed onto it with a muffled groan. "Also, I'm pretty sure every single bone in my body is protesting being publicly acknowledged as old. I don't think I've ever been this sore after a training session before in my life."

"I'm almost done with this paperwork," Katie informed her husband slyly. "Perhaps when I'm finished, a little massage might help make you feel better…"

"You're as brilliant as ever, Mrs. Wood."

"Well, I do try, Mr. Wood."

* * *

_Mid-Spring, 2019_

"Mum!"

Katie heard her son's shout before she saw him. She turned just in time for his small body to collide with hers in the middle of the crowded platform. Katie immediately returned the hug; there was far too much time in between the Christmas and Easter holidays, in her opinion.

"I've missed you, too, Darren," Katie said as they separated from their hug. Then she took a moment to actually observe her son. "You've grown again since Christmas, haven't you?"

Darren nodded rapidly, a proud smile on his face. "The house elves said they can't let the hem out on my school robes again, so I'll probably need new ones this summer."

"I always knew you were more trouble than you're worth," Katie told him jokingly.

"I take after dad," Darren replied mock-seriously.

"Speaking of dad, let's head home and see if we've beat him there."

"I think we will," Darren said cheekily. "Haven't you heard? He's basically an old man now."

"Be that as it may, I do believe that old man mentioned something to me last night about some new maneuvers he wants to show you while you're home."

Darren's eyes lit up immediately.

"What are you waiting for? Let's go!"

* * *

_Late Spring, 2019_

"Hi, Honey, I'm home!" Oliver called out as he entered the house through the front door, overnight bag slung over his shoulder. "Katie?"

"In the kitchen!" came the reply from the other side of the house.

With a shake of his head, Oliver dropped his bag just inside the door before making his way toward the kitchen.

Without fail, over the past nineteen years, every time Oliver returned home from an extended away match that Katie didn't attend, she welcomed him home with a home-cooked meal. It had been a thought in the back of his mind for a few years, but with his retirement now imminent he could easily admit to himself that he was rather looking forward to getting to eat dinner with his beautiful wife every night. Hell, maybe he'd even make the most of being a retiree and finally learn how to cook—having promised to do so for years—so that _he _could make dinner for _her _sometimes.

"I missed you, love," Oliver declared, wrapping his arms around Katie from behind and kissing her neck just below her right ear as she stood in front of the stove. Whatever she was stirring smelled delicious; almost as delicious as Katie herself, in fact.

"I missed you, too," Katie replied instantly, turning her head back to peck him briefly on the cheek. "Give me ten more minutes and dinner will be ready."

"No rush," Oliver said easily, his arms still wrapped firmly around her middle. "I'm more than happy right here."

* * *

_Early Summer, 2019_

"I almost forgot to ask, how are your parents?" Oliver asked as he changed into his pajamas one night while Katie sat in their bed reading a book. "Today was the day you were going over there for lunch, right?"

"Yes, they're good. I told them we'd come over for dinner next week sometime once Darren is home for the summer," Katie replied, lowering her book. "Also, mum wants me to remind you _again_ that retirement doesn't mean you can stop getting her tickets to Quidditch matches. Personally, I'm starting to think her obsession with you all these years has really just been a cover for her obsession with Quidditch."

"Nothing wrong with that," Oliver stated firmly, "Quidditch is the healthy kind of obsession to have."

"I don't care how many years pass, Wood," Katie shot back, only half-playfully, "I'm never going to agree that all of those dawn practices were a good idea, let alone healthy. The morning air is only good for you if you aren't sleep-deprived and in danger of falling off your broom."

"We won the Quidditch Cup, though, didn't we?" Oliver shot back, crawling into bed beside her. "I'd say those extra morning practices played a part in that."

"Speaking of the Quidditch Cup," Katie began thoughtfully, shutting her book completely now and placing it on her bedside table before turning to face Oliver. "Do you remember how we once agreed that I could hold it over your head forever that I won three Quidditch Cups at Hogwarts while you only won one?"

"I do believe that's over-ruled by my _eight_ League Championships to your one," Oliver responded instantly.

"_Ahem_," Katie pointed at herself, "One-hundred percent success rate with that."

Oliver narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his wife. "Is this one of those arguments that I'm supposed to let you win if I know what's good for me?"

"Surprisingly, potentially not," Katie admitted. "Because…how would you feel about a rematch of sorts? One final game to determine once and for all who gets eternal bragging rights."

"Done," Oliver said immediately, not wasting any time to think over his answer. "Is this going to be one versus one?"

"No, definitely seven versus seven," Katie replied. "I was thinking…maybe our final showdown can be the All-Star Game?"

"The All-Star…" Oliver trailed off in confusion, then suddenly his face lit up in understanding. "They asked you?! When? They sent the letters out months ago, why is this the first I'm hearing about it? Are you going to do it? Well?!"

"Breathe, Oliver," Katie reminded him with a laugh. "Yes, they asked me. Or, rather, Ms. Katie Bell received a letter several months ago delivered to her parents' house—apparently her last known address—requesting her participation in a 'once-in-a-lifetime Quidditch event.' But really, I've only known since about five hours ago when I got home and read it, since mum forgot that she's been meaning to pass it along to me for ages now."

Oliver's eyes were positively shining with anticipation. "It's not too late, is it? Can you still say you'll do it? You do _want_ to do it, _right_? _Please_ say yes, Katie."

"Luckily, the response deadline is the first of July, so I do have until next week to decide," Katie replied blithely.

"_Katie_…"

"Bragging rights for all eternity?"

"Still agreed."

"Then I'm in."


	2. The Event Unfolds

**a/n-Apparently I have a lot more to say than I thought I did, so there will be a third part.**

* * *

_Mid-Summer, 2019_

_ALL-STAR GAME ROSTER SURPRISE_

_From the _Daily Prophet_'s senior Quidditch Correspondent, Ginny Potter_

_Quidditch fans across Britain have been waiting in anticipation for months to discover who the League considers to be the top players of the last quarter century. And late yesterday evening the roster was finally released with great fanfare._

_Ever since the announcement of the special All-Star Game, speculation has run rampant about who might be invited to play. One name that never seemed to be mentioned was Katie Bell._

_Katie Bell is a player largely forgotten in popular opinion today. This is understandable, to a degree, because she only played one season of professional Quidditch in the British League. A Chaser, Bell played for the Holyhead Harpies in the 1998 season that was shortened due to the Second Wizarding War. However, in that time, she had a highly successful career, setting ten League and team records—four of which still stand today—on the way to helping the Harpies to a League Championship. She was also named the 1998 League Rookie of the Year._

_Despite all of these accomplishments, Bell abruptly opted to retire prior to the 1999 season, leaving both fans and fellow players baffled. A lack of public appearances caused her to eventually fade from the spotlight, a career relegated to the dusty record books._

_Until last night, that is, when her name appeared on the All-Star roster._

_That's correct, readers, years after leaving the public eye, Katie Bell is finally coming out of retirement. And with a career like the one she had, we at the _Daily Prophet_ cannot wait to finally see her fly again._

_(Article continued on page 2)_

_(Full roster and accompanying player stats on page 3)_

* * *

_Late Summer, 2019_

Darren looked up from his summer Herbology essay when he heard a knock on his bedroom door. He had to fight to keep his expression straight when he saw his dad standing in the doorway looking completely perplexed. He had a feeling he knew what this would be about…

"Hey, dad, what's up?"

"Did your sister leave already?" Oliver questioned, a hopeful hint to his tone.

"No, she's with mum," Darren replied, allowing a small smirk to cross his face. Typical.

Although he tried to hide it, Oliver had been upset about his oldest child deciding to move out of the family home and into her own flat when she was moved up from Pride of Portree's reserve team the previous winter. Of course, Joscelind still came over for dinner at least once a week, and she often spent the entire day Sunday with her family if she wasn't away for a match, so Darren was of the opinion that they all still saw her the same amount as they used to, no matter what his parents seemed to think.

"Oh," Oliver said shortly. Then his brow furrowed in more confusion. "And…where _is_ your mum?"

Darren couldn't hold back the grin on this one any longer. Dad didn't know? This was too perfect.

"She's over at Grandma and Grandpa's," Darren told him.

"Oh, that's right…" Oliver said thoughtfully. "I remember her mentioning that this morning. Wait—were we all supposed to go over there to visit as a family?"

"No, they're not even there for a visit," Darren stated, tamping down on his glee so that it wouldn't become apparent to his dad. "Mum asked Jos to run some drills with her, and they're using the field behind Grandma and Grandpa's house."

"Run some—you mean she's _practicing_?" Oliver demanded, understanding dawning on him. "Why did she go all the way over there for that? And why didn't she ask _me_ for help?"

Darren was laughing on the inside. Poor dad. Sometimes he really was clueless. That usually didn't extend to anything having to do with Quidditch, though, so this was definitely a first.

"Mum said she can't practice on the pitch we have out back because then you might see her and she said that constitutes as spying on the enemy and even though she knows it's the only way you'll manage to win your 'final showdown,' she won't condone you cheating in any form," Darren recited in a single breath.

Oliver simply stood there for a moment, a gob-smacked expression clear across his face. Then,

"She's think I can only win by _cheating_?! _Hmph_, I'll show her. Challenge accepted."

* * *

_Early Autumn, 2019_

"Press events like this one are definitely one thing I never missed after retiring," Katie stated, giving herself one final look-over in the full-length mirror in the master bathroom. Hair…makeup…jewelry…dress robes…all set. She was as ready as she was going to get. "But I suppose it will be nice to actually get to interact with my temporary teammates outside of the Quidditch Pitch for once…and the League _does_ know how to throw a party."

Oliver's reflection appeared in the mirror behind Katie just as she was brushing one last imaginary piece of lint off her sleeve. She couldn't help but be immediately distracted by how handsome he looked in his dress robes. Without a doubt, Oliver-the-middle-aged-man was even more attractive than Oliver-the-teenager whom she had fallen in love with more than twenty years ago.

"You look gorgeous," Oliver stated, and Katie didn't miss the way his eyes roamed over her form. There were definitely good things to come after they got this banquet out of the way.

"Funny," Katie turned to face him and smiled. "I was just thinking the exact same thing about you."

Oliver returned her smile easily, reaching a hand out to her, which she immediately grabbed, allowing him to pull her into his embrace.

"You're absolutely breathtaking, too," Oliver informed her. "You're going to walk into that Banquet Room tonight, and no one is ever going to want to look away from you."

"Including you?" Katie asked, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"_Especially_ me," Oliver growled lightly, leaning down and capturing her lips in a kiss. And when he finally released them, he continued, "In fact, I plan on flirting with you shamelessly all night, _Ms. Bell_."

"Why, Mr. Wood, what _will_ your mysteriously secret wife say?" Katie retorted playfully, adopting a scandalized tone.

"Hopefully that she can't wait to get me out of these robes."

"Hmm…definitely not untrue. I look forward to the day when Puddlemere-blue isn't the main staple of your wardrobe. In fact, we're probably going to have to go shopping the first day you're officially retired."

Now it was Oliver's turn to roll his eyes playfully at her. Then his expression turned thoughtful.

"We haven't really talked about this…but what are _you_ going to say when you get questioned by basically everyone? They had questions about your retirement twenty years ago that went unanswered, and they're definitely going to have questions now."

Katie paused for a moment, thoughtful as she remained relaxed in her husband's embrace. This was a situation her mind wandered to every so often after accepting the invitation to play in next week's game. But she never did come up with a definitive response. What _would_ she tell people when they inevitably asked her about her abrupt retirement?

Twenty years ago, the decision to keep their relationship and ensuing marriage out of the public eye was a practical one. Katie and Oliver wanted their private lives to remain private; they _didn't_ want anyone making stupid implications about their relationship with each other affecting their professional lives. And when Katie retired after becoming pregnant with Joscelind, she chose to keep things that way. After all, she chose to play Quidditch for the love of the game, not for fame and fortune.

Katie shrugged delicately. "I wanted things in life that Quidditch couldn't offer me, believe it or not. And I still have absolutely no regrets about that."

Oliver smiled at her. "I love you, you know."

Katie smiled back. "And I love you."

* * *

_Mid-Autumn, 2019_

Joscelind was leaning casually against a tree enjoying the unseasonably warm (for Scotland, anyway) October weather, when she heard her name being called.

"Jos! There you are!"

She looked up from the nail polish on her hand that she'd been absentmindedly picking at for the past few minutes to see her thirteen-year-old brother—Puddlemere crest emblazoned across his blue t-shirt—approaching her, two familiar dark-haired boys and a ginger-haired girl trailing behind him, talking animatedly amongst themselves.

"I'm exactly where I told you I would be," Joscelind stated, though she grinned at her brother before suddenly launching herself forward and engulfing him in a back-breaking hug.

"Aw, Jos, c'mon…lemme go," Darren struggled half-heartedly to free himself from her embrace, knowing it was useless…one day he would be bigger and stronger than his older sister…one day.

Joscelind relented after a moment and released him.

"You're rather ungrateful," She informed him, though she was still smiling. "Here we are, months and months since we last saw each other—"

"Barely even two," Darren cut in to correct her.

"Months and months," Joscelind repeated pointedly. "And you won't even let me give you one measly little hug?"

"Yes," Darren stated succinctly. "I'm a teenage boy; it's what we do."

Joscelind rolled her eyes at her brother before turning her gaze to his three companions.

"And how are the Potter siblings today?" She asked.

"Good! I'm so excited for the game!" Lily replied instantly, fairly bouncing with excitement. "And it's so cool that it's being played at Hogwarts."

As the Wood family—which in this case consisted of Katie, Joscelind, and Darren—had long ago unanimously decided, the location for the All-Star Game was a sure first sign of the sentimentality that came with Oliver's advanced age. As the only thing about Quidditch that Oliver was remotely interested in had to do with actually playing the game, rather than anything bureaucratic, he really had only one request when it came to staging the game that was supposed to be a celebration of his long career. And by 'request' he obviously meant 'one demand that _must_ be met under pain of death because I'm that serious about my Quidditch playing.'

The demand: playing the game at Hogwarts, the location of the very first official Quidditch game Oliver played in on a real team.

It was sentimentality and nostalgia brought on by old age, for sure.

The League loved the idea, though, because it meant more fans in the (temporarily enlarged) stands than if they staged the game away from the school (and thus all of the students living there). And the Board of Governors actually agreed to the proposal easily enough. So here they were at the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch: the sigh of Oliver Wood's dismal first match.

"Mum said she would have snuck us out of school to see the game anyway, if they hadn't picked Hogwarts," James reminded his little sister.

Joscelind smiled and merely shook her head.

"Come on, you four. Let's head inside before the crowds descend."

The group quickly made its way into the stadium, bypassing the main entrance with the VIP passes Joscelind produced for security, then began the long trek up the stairs. Once they reached the level they were looking for—one that was a part of the temporary addition—it was a simple enough matter to find the correct box, a private one reserved for the Woods and Weasleys/Potters.

James, suddenly at the front of the group, reached for the door handle excitedly and quickly pulled open the door, only to reveal his father standing on the other side.

"Dad!" He exclaimed almost immediately, "What are you doing here?"

"I came home from my conference early," Harry replied with a shrug, before going to give each of his children a hug. "Did you really think I was going to miss this? Mum would kill me."

"I think mum likes you too much for that, daddy," Lily said solemnly from her place in her father's arms. "She'd probably only _hex_ you…once or twice, depending on how upset she is…or how upset she pretends to be."

"And clearly you understand why I'm here right now," Harry stated. "And of course I missed all three of you, too, so I just _had_ to come see my wonderful children at their school."

"Da-_ad_!" James and Albus gave twin groans of exasperation.

"Are you sure it's not because the League has been badgering the Boy-Who-Lived to participate in today's game?" A voice questioned from behind them.

As one they all turned to see George standing in the doorway, a wide grin on his face. Harry narrowed his eyes at his brother-in-law.

"Like I told that pesky reporter from the _Prophet_—" Harry began, only to be cut off by George.

"You mean your _wife_?" He asked cheekily.

"Quite possibly," Harry stated. "Anyway, while I'll always be grateful to Oliver Wood for being the person to teach me how to play Quidditch, it hardly makes sense to put me on an All-Star team when I never actually played professionally."

"You forgot the part where you said you haven't played seriously since you were suspended from the Gryffindor team in your sixth year," Albus reminded his dad with a sly grin.

As the conversation descended into what basically amounted to the Potter children and their uncle taking the mickey out of the Chosen One, Joscelind suddenly realized that her brother had drifted away from the group. A cursory glance around the spacious box found Darren at the front edge, looking out across the stadium. Joscelind quickly made her way over to stand beside him.

"It's still kind of weird to me that all of this is for dad," Darren commented suddenly, though he did not look away from the Pitch.

"Weird good or weird bad?" Joscelind questioned.

Darren shrugged. "Neither, really. Just weird. It's probably because everyone's making such a big deal about him but he's always just been my dad, you know? Maybe it would feel more normal if this wasn't going to be basically my first appearance as the son of _the _Oliver Wood."

Joscelind eyed her brother thoughtfully. "Would you prefer to have been in the public eye all along instead?"

"Hell no," Darren's response was immediate, as was his reaction to his response—looking swiftly over his shoulder to make sure there weren't any responsible adults around to berate him for his language.

He finally made eye contact with his sister when he continued, "I've seen the way the people hound the Potters and the Weasleys. I know dad's fame is different, but I wouldn't want—I _don't_ want to be under anything remotely near the level of scrutiny they always seem to be under. But I guess that's just the thing about right now: I'm not used to my dad being publicly celebrated as a celebrity."

"Hmm…" Joscelind hummed noncommittally as her gaze now turned outwards to the stadium, which was slowly beginning to fill with people.

"I'd say you're really lucky right now," She stated. "I more than expected all the comparisons of me to dad when I signed with Portree, and I suppose that part of things isn't _too_ bad. But I do miss the days of anonymity. And not having to share dad with everyone else."

"We won't have to worry about that for much longer, though, will we?" Darren said with a small grin. "The old man will be all ours soon enough and we won't have any idea what to do with having him around so much."

Joscelind scoffed. "He's the one who isn't going to have any idea what to do with himself. The man has eaten, slept, and lived Quidditch basically his entire life. I always thought he'd only retire or stop playing when death forced him out—and even then I thought there was a high likelihood of him coming back as a ghost and attempting to keep playing."

Darren's grin widened. "He is a bit like Binns, isn't he?"

Joscelind returned the grin. "Just maybe don't tell him that; we don't want to go giving him any crazy ideas."

_Meanwhile in the Gryffindor Locker Room…_

Oliver was reveling in this moment.

Forget the fact that the Quidditch season was over and that this was the official final game of his career. Forget the fact that the point of today's game was literally to celebrate his entire career. Because he was sitting in the Gryffindor locker room again.

Oliver never thought this moment would happen.

He thought he'd seen the last of this room when his seventh year came to a close. And then again with an even greater sense of finality when the atrocities of the Battle of Hogwarts extended to setting fire to the Quidditch Pitch.

But here he was again in that familiar room, miraculously spared from the fire while most of the rest of the stadium had to be rebuilt. There was the locker with the dent from a rogue Weasley beater's bat. And in front of the lockers were the benches the team often fell asleep on during his five a.m. pep talks. And there was that old, spindle-legged chalkboard where he'd illustrated many a play back in the day. And surrounding him were the maroon and gold walls that were, in concept, incredibly garish, but in reality actually quite soothing before a big game. He would always feel pride in that familiar maroon and gold.

It was good to be home.

A quick glance at the clock hanging over the door told Oliver that game time was fast approaching. He grinned to himself.

One final pep talk was definitely in order, here in the place where it all began…

And then he was determined to finally crush his wife once and for all.

_Five hours later…_

"That catch was fantastic!" Darren crowed, eyes glued to the giant screen showing the replay of the game-winning snitch capture. "Griffiths definitely still has it. Never mind the fact that her life was threatened by Gwenog Jones, she's definitely someone who retired too soon."

"So is mum," Joscelind responded over the noise of the stadium's occupants. "I've never seen her play so intensely. She was amazing out there!"

"Not as amazing as dad," Darren grinned. "I knew he would win!"

"It's too bad," Joscelind sighed. "I was really rooting for mum on this one. And she was flying so well, too. Even if they're all retired now, I think her team really could have pulled off a win if the snitch hadn't been caught when it was."

"Honestly, I think dad had the advantage over her here," Darren admitted. "Not only is mum not quite at peak form anymore, even with all of the training she's done over the past few months, but dad _has_ been playing constantly for all these years and at the position that most prevents mum from succeeding. Sure, mum's team had great chasers, but dad is an excellent Keeper even without all of the other talent loaded on his team."

"I suppose…" Joscelind conceded with a sigh.

"Hmm…there's no way I'm getting down there to congratulate dad at any point today, is there?" Darren questioned then as he watched spectators swarm the pitch the moment Oliver touched down after his final victory lap.

"Not a chance," Joscelind concurred.

"Oh well," Darren shrugged. Then he grinned wickedly. "Maybe I'll be an awful kid instead and go find mum to rub it in her face that she lost."

"Brat," Joscelind informed him.

"You wanna come with?" Darren shot back, giving his sister a sidelong glance.

"Yes," Her admission was swift. But then she sighed in defeat. "I probably shouldn't, though. I'm not quite inconspicuous enough anymore, like you are, to do that. And _I'm_ certainly not going to be the reason the press finds out the identity of dad's wife—knowing the two of them, they have some kind of wager on that revelation, and I'm not getting in the middle of that!"

"If I didn't know firsthand how ridiculous some of their wagers are, I'd be worried that mum and dad have a serious gambling problem," Darren commented in reply. "Of course, what I really don't know is how no one has figured out about them yet; they certainly don't flaunt their relationship in public, but it's not as if they're only together in the complete privacy of home. Honestly, you'd think that with how often dad has gotten recognized at Platform 9 ¾ that people would have questioned whether or not he's married before all of this—or at least why he's dropping off or picking kids up from the train."

"Well," Joscelind said thoughtfully, "I guess that's where Uncle George is right with what he's been saying all these years: mum and dad have basically pulled the best prank ever on the entire wizarding world."

"That's for sure," Darren agreed, his gaze shifting back to the field. "Are they setting up for a press conference down there?"

Joscelind followed his gaze onto the field and she nodded her agreement. "That's what it looks like. I bet dad will love that."

"Oh, but dad loves all press-related events," Darren stated mock-seriously.

"Yes, especially when they keep him from gloating to mum about beating her," Joscelind agreed. "You know…if the reporters are going to be out here with dad, maybe I will go see mum with you. Someone will have to commiserate with her and rescue her from your obnoxiousness."

_Meanwhile on the Quidditch Pitch…_

Oliver loathed press events. Wasn't the point of a reporter to report on what he or she observed during the game? Why did they have to ask him questions afterwards, too? Why did they have to keep him on the field with all of their questions when he could be going through the all-important rundown of the game with his _teammates_—the people who actually participated in the game and would have to learn from it—rather than the general public?

After more than twenty years of putting up with these things, he'd long ago accepted them as a necessary evil, but that didn't mean he liked them. And on the bright side, as soon as this one was done, he was going to be free and clear for the rest of his life. No more press conferences for Oliver Wood. No, sir. No way.

It was one of those small perks of retirement that he was looking forward to.

Well, that and lording it over Katie that he beat her.

"What are your plans for day-to-day life now that you're officially retired?"

Oliver perked up slightly at that question. Loathe as he was to continue standing here when he could be looking for his wife—which was honestly his number one priority at the moment—the answer to that question was actually something that he found himself dwelling on more and more as the date of his retirement loomed ever closer. And it was also something that he was rather excited about.

"Well obviously I plan to attend as many Pride of Portree games next season as I can—unfortunately for Puddlemere, I think my loyalties may already be shifting. But beyond that, I would really like to get more involved with the Wood Foundation. Although it's something that I obviously played a part in setting up and establishing the mission of, my actual involvement with the organization in the past has been limited in the past due to my schedule. It's obviously hard to commit to attending the summer camps so that I can actually interact with the kids when I've been in the middle of my season. My wife has done a fantastic job of running things so far, but I'll be glad to actually be able to help her with running all of the day-to-day things from now on. Plus, running clinics will be an excellent excuse to get back on a broom."

Silence met Oliver's answer. Unsure about how to respond to that—in twenty-plus years he'd _never_ met a reporter _without_ 'just one more' question—he simply stood there patiently. Maybe if no one else spoke up he could put an end to this thing early. He really needed to go find Katie.

Finally, a man Oliver recognized as Ginny Potter's newest intern raised his hand in the second row of reporters. Oliver looked at him expectantly, giving him a small nod of assent.

"Excuse me, but could you repeat that? _Who_ is currently in charge of the day-to-day operations of the Wood Foundation?"

"My—"Oliver cut himself off abruptly. _Oh no._ Oh no, oh no, oh no. He _didn't_. "Er, that is to say—the person in charge—erm, the chairperson is…ah, well, Kati—Katherine. Her name is Katherine. Yes, Katherine Wood. Oh, and would you look at the time? I really need to go get changed now. I've spent more than thirty years in sweaty Quidditch robes, so I'm quite anxious to leave that aspect of the game behind me. I'll just be going now. Thank you all for coming today," He barely remembered to add before making a mad dash for the locker rooms just as the reporters were beginning to react to the information he inadvertently revealed.

Oliver quickly found himself in the familiar maroon and gold Gryffindor locker room. If he wasn't so mortified with himself, he would have taken the time to be impressed with an instinct that clearly hadn't faded over the past twenty-five years.

Mercifully, the room was deserted. Apparently while he was talking to the press—_twenty-one years_ without a single slip-up now down the drain, just like that, in his _final_ press conference—everyone else must have showered and changed so they could head to the after party.

But the sound of the door leading to the Pitch opening and then closing again made Oliver look up from where he had collapsed on a bench, head in his hands.

Ginny Potter stood before him, still dressed in her Quidditch robes and broom slung over her shoulder. She smirked at him.

"Katie is going to _kill_ you," She informed Oliver cheerfully.


	3. The Aftermath

_Late Autumn, 2019_

Oliver was living in a perpetual state of suspense. Well, really it was more like suspense bordering on full-out panic.

He and Katie were currently in the midst of week three since he accidentally let slip to the press that he had a wife named Katherine Wood. By some stroke of luck (or cowardice, where Oliver was concerned anyway) Katie was not yet aware of his slip-up. However, that was mainly due to the fact that the morning after the private after-party (no press allowed in, thank Merlin) the Woods left the country for a planned extended vacation.

But tomorrow they were finally going home. And after nearly three weeks with absolutely no contact with the Wizarding world, Oliver was terrified to learn what the press was able to dig up in that time. Hopefully nothing, but realistically probably absolutely everything.

Overall, there was one thing of which he was absolutely certain: tomorrow was the day Katie would kill him.

"Oliver?"

Oliver was brought out of his reveries by the sound of his wife's voice. He looked across the breakfast table to her with an easy smile.

"Yes, love?"

Katie frowned. "Are you alright?"

Oliver felt the smile slip from his face. _She knew something. She had to know something. What did she know? No, stop panicking; remain calm. It was an innocent question; everything was _fine_._ "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I just said your name ten times," Katie informed him, "Literally ten times. I feel that it is completely valid for me to be concerned when it takes you as long as it did to notice something like that."

"Oh…" Oliver trailed off shortly. _Damn._ He really needed to stop letting all of his worries overwhelm him to the point he stopped paying attention to the world around him; multi-tasking was a _good_ thing that he needed to learn now.

"So, I'll ask again," Katie began pointedly, "Are you alright?"

"Ah…er…yes?" Oliver offered, cursing himself internally for how uncertain-sounding his answer came out. There was no way Katie was going to believe him now.

Sure enough, Katie merely looked at him for a moment, her expression blank save for her raised eyebrows, before uttering a short, "I see."

Well shit. He was screwed; officially and completely screwed. He'd been keeping his slip-up secret from her for three weeks now, and he would be beyond lucky if he somehow managed to keep it for another five minutes. His wife would be positively terrifying when she wanted to be, after all (basically the reason why he kept it a secret from her in the first place).

And, for the record, that was 'terrifying' in the sense that he loved her to death and hated to refuse her anything she really wanted, which she knew full well and was not afraid to use to her advantage if she felt the situation warranted it enough.

Funny thing, though, the situation _always_ seemed to warrant it enough…

"Oliver," Katie began slowly, "Wh—"

"Okay, fine!" Oliver interrupted suddenly with a grimace, causing him to completely miss the satisfied expression that flitted across his wife's face. "The press knows we're married. Now stop pressuring me!"

There was a beat of silence following his outburst, then…

"Can you say that _again_, please?"

Oliver gulped nervously. Katie was too calm. If there was any doubt before (which, admittedly, there clearly hadn't been if all of his constant worrying was anything to go by), now he _knew _it wasn't going to end well.

"It was after the game," Oliver said in a rush. "I er I may have accidentally let slip that I would be joining my wife in the day-to-day dealings of the Wood Foundation and then I may have mentioned you by name as the current head of operations. And, well, I know I messed up because we each managed to keep our marriage a secret for twenty years, but I really couldn't help it. The reporters kept asking me questions about retirement and what I thought I would enjoy most about it, and obviously I'm most excited about all the time I'm going to get to spend with you, Katie. I love you and I love Quidditch, but I think we all know I love _you_ just a bit more, so of course I was excited enough to let slip we're married, because I'm just so glad we're going to get to spend so much time together and please just don't hate me for this."

All of this was said very quickly, and judging by the slightly overwhelmed look on Katie's face she may have missed half of what he said, as a result. Oliver was gearing up to _attempt_ to reiterate everything he'd just explained by in a calmer and hopefully more coherent fashion, when Katie finally spoke up.

"You love me more than Quidditch?" She questioned, her expression unreadable.

Oliver frowned. Was she daft? And was that really the one thing she was going to pick out of his sincerely apologetic (if a bit rushed) monologue?

"Of course I do," Oliver replied, reasonably affronted. "You know that." A horrifying thought crossed his mind then. "_Wait_—Katie, you _do_ know that, _right_? _Of course_ I love you more than Quidditch! You're my _wife_!"

"Relax, Oliver," Katie immediately reached across the table and placed a calming hand on her husband's arm. "Of course I _know_ that. It's just nice to hear you say it; I've always known it, but it's not really something you verbalize very often. And…well, I like hearing it."

Oliver sighed in defeat. "Well I suppose it's good to know that my failures as a husband stretch back more than three weeks ago."

"Oliver, we both know any legitimate failures you may have as a suitable life partner actually stem from your inability to remember to put the cap back on the toothpaste," She reminded him with a small smile. "That's something we've both known since before we were married. Now," Katie continued, suddenly stern, "You're going to stop moping about right now. You're a perfectly wonderful husband and you know it—any and all recent slips of the tongue included—and you certainly shouldn't need me to remind you of that."

"So, you forgive me for telling the press about us?" Oliver clarified, daring to hope. Clearly he'd been worrying over nothing for the past three weeks if things were getting resolved so easily now that they were finally talking about it.

"Of course," Katie said simply. "There's really nothing to forgive…well, alright, maybe there is. But that's alright because I'm over it…basically."

Oliver frowned suspiciously. While he was fully aware that all of the imagining he'd done about Katie actually being legitimately angry with him was definitely an over-exaggeration on his part, there was still something off about her reaction. She should at least be a _bit_ upset. She was taking it much too well that he'd basically blabbed their most closely guarded secret—their _only_ secret—to the world.

"How are you so calm right now?" He questioned.

"I was wondering when you were going to question that," Katie informed him, an amused look passing across her face. "I'm calm because I've known about this for a while; I've had some time to get used to it."

"You've—what—how?" Oliver spluttered indignantly. "_What?_"

"I've known about what you said since basically a few hours after you said it," Katie replied easily. "It basically caused a complete shit storm at the office—I fully expect you to send my secretary flowers as an apology, by the way. And I may be on vacation right now, but when something that big happens—and reporters constantly harassing everyone for information and not letting them do their work is definitely big—then I'm going to find out about it; I am the chairperson after all. Also, my assistant forwarded something to me her that would be pretty hard to miss and…well, it pretty much speaks for itself."

And reaching into the bag she'd been carrying around all vacation and that was currently draped across the back of her chair, Katie pulled out a rolled up newspaper and handed it over to Oliver.

A quick glance at the date showed it was from two weeks ago, and then he unrolled it and his eyes widened in alarm at the blaring headline taking up half the front page:

_**OLIVER WOOD AND KATIE BELL**_

_Their Love Affair Spanning 3 Decades_

His eyes travelled further down the page and they narrowed in distaste when he spotted what he was looking for.

_By the _Daily Prophet_'s Gossip Correspondent, Rita Skeeter_

The woman was a bloody menace.

"I can't believe you've known about this for so long as you didn't say anything," Oliver finally managed to voice the thoughts running through his head. "I don't know how you did it."

"Watching you agonize over keeping it from me was rather therapeutic…not to mention entertaining," Katie admitted easily. "Plus, it gave me time to think."

"Think?" Oliver questioned, pushing the newspaper away from him. "What about?"

"Payback," Katie stated with a smirk.

"On Skeeter?" Oliver brightened immediately.

"Don't be so daft," Katie replied instantly. "She might be misguided and completely horrible on a good day, but Skeeter is still just a journalist. No, she's not important right now—no matter how distasteful her 'reporting' is. I've been plotting my payback on _you_…or have you forgotten the deal we made when we agreed to keep our private lives private?"

Oliver's eyes widened in alarm once more.

"Oh good, I see you haven't," Katie remarked serenely. "Excellent. Well, you'll be pleased to know that it's actually nothing too horrible."

"I really do think you and I have very different definitions of 'horrible'," Oliver informed her promptly. Katie merely laughed.

"It's simple, really," Katie told him. "Your team may have won the All-Star Game, but I'm the one getting bragging rights for all eternity. That seems like a pretty fair trade-off to me."

Oliver frowned thoughtfully. "You aren't going to make me sleep on the couch, too, or anything, are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Katie responded instantly. "The point of you retiring is that I don't have to sleep without you ever again; I'm not about to give that up. Though…if you do insist, I really wouldn't mind some groveling from you, love, since I know how sorry you are. Also, Margie really does deserve _dozens_ of flowers from you. But I really think that's it: flowers, groveling, and bragging rights for all eternity going to me."

Oliver sighed in equal parts relief and resignation.

"Well, a bet is a bet…" He agreed.

"Yes, it most definitely is."

"And I supposed bragging rights is no longer exclusive to Quidditch abilities?"

"Oh, it has most definitely extended to secret-keeping abilities, too," Katie confirmed with a grin.

"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Definitely not."

"Should the groveling start now?" Oliver questioned.

"If you like. You certainly won't get any complaints from me. Actually, though," Katie said suddenly, a thoughtful look appearing on her face, "While I've got you here, willing to do basically anything for me, there's something that I want to know that's been bothering me for a while," Katie admitted. "And whenever I think of it, you're never around to ask."

"Alright…what is it?" Oliver questioned.

"Well, it's about something Fred and George said in my second year," Katie began, only to be interrupted by Oliver.

"Your _second year_?" He repeated. "At _Hogwarts_? I'd say that's going back a fair bit farther than 'a while.' And you're thinking of it _now_?"

"Yes, well, sometimes these sort of things just stick with you and they pop up at the most random times," Katie retorted. "Anyway, in the locker room before our first match of the season, they basically said something to the effect that they knew your entire pregame speech because they were on the team with you the year before, too."

"Alright…" Oliver said slowly, his recollection of the specific event admittedly incredibly vague—twenty-eight years passing by was a good excuse for that. "And that's been bothering you ever since?"

"What's been bothering me is their implication that you were Captain in your fourth year," Katie stated. "Because that would have been Charlie Weasley's seventh year, and I don't know why he would ever step down from being Captain in his last year, especially in favor of a _fourth_ year, no matter how much said fourth year hero-worshipped him."

"Ah…" Oliver said lightly at the end of her mini-tirade of confusion, and Katie was intrigued to see that his ears had gone slightly pink. Was Oliver _blushing_?

"Oliver?" She prompted when he didn't continue.

"Ah…you see…there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for that…"

Katie looked at her husband expectantly.

"It is entirely possible that I may or may not have convinced Charlie to, er, let _me_ give pep talks before the matches because, well, I was completely obsessed and it is entirely likely that my perfectly reasonable obsession _may_ have scared Charlie into agreeing."

Katie continued to stare at her husband for a long moment—a _very_ long moment that made Oliver exceedingly more nervous for her reaction the longer it got.

And then she burst into laughter. Deep, full laughs that made her clutch at her stomach and gasp for breath.

"I can totally see that," She finally managed to get out once she had herself back under control. "Great, big, burly Charlie Weasley, completely unafraid of any creature he comes across in the Forbidden Forest, but terrified for his life because of little, fourteen-year-old, Quidditch fanatic Oliver Wood. Oh! That visual is so completely hilarious!"

And she descended into laughter once more.

"I forgot that ever happened," Oliver admitted after a moment over the sound of Katie's continued giggles. "Merlin, I must have been insufferable."

Katie crinkled her nose in disagreement. "Not insufferable, but definitely dedicated with a hearty side of over-zealous. Besides, everyone in Gryffindor knew that Charlie was excited about getting to work with dragons once he finished school more than anything else that year; I'm pretty sure you played a major hand in keeping that team from completely falling apart, even if Slytherin did end up winning the Cup again."

Oliver sighed heavily. "_Dragons_…he could have played for _England_…"

"Speaking of England, though," Katie began, suddenly serious. "All jokes and bets aside for the moment, are you prepared to go back there tomorrow? You may technically be retired now, but you're still a public figure, and your public has been waiting weeks for a comment from you on this story."

"Never mind me," Oliver said with a wave of his hand, "What about _you_? Are you prepared for whatever we're going to face once we get home?"

Katie smiled. "With you by my side? After twenty years of marriage, I'm pretty sure we'll be able to get through anything the press or the public throws at us together."

Oliver grinned. "I love you, you know."

"And I love you."


End file.
